


Complete Surrender

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: The British Government and the DI [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Ball Crusher, Bondage, CBT, Cock & Ball Torture, Cuffs, Dom Greg, Dom Mycroft, Dom/sub, Dominance, Enemas, Extreme Submission, Heavy BDSM, Kneeling, M/M, Object Penetration, Punishment, Riding Crops, Spanking, Sub Greg, Sub Mycroft, Submission, Suspention Bondage, Tears, paddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5828935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg leaves work late. Again. Deliberately winding Mycroft up</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We are both warning you now, this is heavier than what we have done before, we were in that sort of mood. If you don't like it wait for the next part of the series please don't leave comments about how hard this is, we know because we had to write fluff afterwards

Mycroft had sent a car for his sub. The DCI was too engrossed in his work that he'd put it back over an hour, but eventually he followed the driver through the Yard and out the door. Said driver opened the back seat for him and Greg climbed in.

The sub found himself getting tenser and tenser on the way home. He had promised his Dom he'd leave work at a reasonable time, but it wasn't that he was being overworked now, but that he was enjoying it so much, bigger office for one thing. Especially since Donovan had been turned down for DI, he had laughed every day since.

He knew his Dom was going to be mad, so when the car pulled up outside of their apartment he threw the door open, calling to the driver, “I'll see myself out, Billy.” Which he did, but tripped as he stepped out and collapsed in a heap in a puddle.

Mycroft was at the door, his arms folded, looking singularly unimpressed. “If you had left when I'd told you to, you wouldn't be in that puddle because it wasn't there an hour and a half ago.”

The DCI looked up sheepishly, yup, he was in for it and he expected no sympathy either.

“Sorry, sir,” Greg said, not expecting it to make a difference.

“Not yet, you're not, but you will be.”

The DCI gave a shudder that he couldn't identify as either dread or arousal. It was some strange mixture of each and it was starting to be his constant state.

“Inside, pet. Now.”

Greg slipped slightly in the water as he stood. When he wasn't in for a rough ride he would have to say to Mycroft to get them to put a drain there or something.

He was quite proud of his powers of deduction, he expected the smack on the back of the head that came when he walked muddy footprints through their hall. Greg was proud of his next deduction as well and veered towards the playroom rather than the loo, he hadn't got very dirty when had fallen after all. That spared him another smack on the back of his head. Seeing Mycroft walk straight over to their collection of floggers, he realised anew that the smack had been the least of his worries.

The Dom selected a bright red silicone paddle. It was the one with the handle that could be used as a dildo. “How many minutes late were you, Gregory.”

“How am I supposed to keep a track of the exact number of minutes that I was late, I don't have a PA.” He knew roughly how long he was late by but he didn't want to say it out loud, over an hour and a half was over 90 and going by the way the older man was wielding that rather uncomfortable looking paddle he could also deduce what would come next. “You didn't even send the car at an exact time, like 5 o'clock for me to work it out.”

Mycroft tutted. “I had planned on taking the number of minutes and dividing it by two, however...” He flipped the paddle in his hand, considering. “We'll say 46 strokes of the paddle now and the remaining 47 tomorrow.” A grin spread across the Dom's face. “And I'll fuck you with it after every tenth stroke.”

“No, sir, please-”

“Shh, Gregory. You know my rules. Me getting you out of work at a decent time is for your health and consequently my sanity. Now get over that bench. Now.”

“Mycroft-”

The Dom gave an imperious snap of his fingers and pointed at the bench. Greg took a few halting steps towards it and saw the restraints were missing. He fell to his knees and looked at Mycroft imploringly.

“I'm not changing my mind, pet.”

“I know, sir, and I'm not asking you too, but please,” he shook his head, “I don't think I can do this if you don't bind me.”

“You'll do whatever I want you to. Now enough with the complaining. I'll tie you up later, the paddle isn't all you're getting seeing as I've been a rather kind Dom by halving the number of strokes, today at least. This is for being late. The lovely enema you're going to get later whilst tied in the most imaginative way I can think of will be for your rudeness when you came in.”

Greg hung his head, then crawled over and onto the bench. The first blow came before he could prepare himself. It hit lower than he had expected it, across his upper thighs, and sent his feet scrambling in shock.

“Keep still, Gregory!” Mycroft barked. “If you are shifting like that after one blow you are going to end up putting yourself into much more trouble, you are also more like to get hurt in a way I don't control.”

Greg took a deep, shuddering breath and steadied himself. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” That had bloody well hurt. He decided he didn't like this particular paddle one damned bit.

He braced himself for whatever came next and ended up biting through his bottom lip as the next three came down in quick succession.

Mycroft circled him and placed a finger beneath his chin. He tilted his head back. “4 strikes and you are already hurting yourself.”

He walked over and picked up a thick leather strap. Greg shivered in dread, fully expecting to be struck with it. Instead, Mycroft held it in front of the sub's face and ordered, “Open.” The moment Greg complied, the strap was shoved between his teeth. “Bite down on this, Boy, and know there will be consequences if you drop it.”

Greg couldn't work out if that was better or worse than being hit with it, if he yelled out he'd likely drop it and then he'd likely be worse off.

He was focusing so much on not dropping it that when the next few strokes fell in quick succession, he was caught off guard and nearly stumbled with the strap. He doubted he'd be able to keep it between his teeth for long.

“Oh, dear. That was ten blows, wasn't it, pet? And I made you a promise.”

Greg's arse was stinging, his cock was throbbing, and he was struggling to stay still. He couldn't spare a thought to figure out what Mycroft was referring to, not until, that is, he felt the dribble of lube at his crack.

Mycroft poured more lube into his hand and slicked up the handle of the paddle. Without further ado, he placed it at Greg's entrance and shoved it in as far as it would go.

The DCI's mouth flew open, dropping the leather strap as he let out an involuntary scream.

The Dom walked around the bench and crouched down in front of Greg. With one hand, he picked up the strap. With the other, he caressed the DCI's cheek. “Look at me, Gregory. Do you need to use your safe word?”

The sub shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “No, sir. I'm good, sir.”

“You are such a pain slut. And you're all mine.” He licked the side of Greg's face. “That scream was delicious, boy. I plan on hearing several more before the night is over. But I also distinctly remember saying that there would be consequences should you drop this.”

He pushed it back between the sub's lips and walked over to the shelf. He would have looked at the humblers but they were at the club, he would need to bring one or two of them home. Mycroft's face lit up when he spied the 5 inch long steel tube. He picked it up and held it out for his pet to see. “Do you know what this is, pet.”

Greg bit down hard on the leather strip between his teeth and shook his head.

“Then I'll be delighted to enlighten you. This is my favourite ball crusher. This weight here locks around your scrotum. I'll shove your balls inside this chamber and then...” He grinned evilly. “I twist the T-bar and the plunger crushes your balls as the space in the chamber gets smaller. How much do you think you can take, boy?”

Greg let out a despairing moan.

“Well, each time you drop that nice leather strap, I'll twist the T-bar one revolution, so you had best not drop it.”

Greg watched him nervously as he moved towards him and set up the strange contraption around the most treasured part of him.

He looked up imploringly at the Dom trying to convey a silent message. Mycroft removed the strap. “Can't you just gag me, sir?”

“No, you need to learn to obey me in all things, boy. Like leaving work on time.”

“Now, since you didn't drop the strap, I won't twist the T-bar once.” He twisted it a number of times instead until he heard Greg's breath hitch in pain.

“What did I do?” There was only another twist in response.

The DCI immediately went back to gnawing on his bottom lip, he was already sensitive in arousal but this was excruciating.

“Sir,” he choked. “Please.”

There was a warning slap on his arse. “Pet, I'll give you this one warning. I won't tighten this enough to damage you, however, I will push you to the edge. When I reach that point, if you drop the strap, I'll start adding weights to the ball crusher and stretch your sac. I think I'll even do it if you simply struggle too much. I imagine it will be quite excruciating. Now, hold the strap in your mouth like a good little pain slut, whilst I fuck you a few more times with the paddle.”

“Sir-” he tried to protest again, but Mycroft wedged the strap between his teeth.

The DCI knew his Dom was deliberately rubbing the unusual object in his arse over his prostate to make his cock throb.

Mycroft gave the paddle one more sharp thrust into Greg, then he pulled it out and wiped the lube from the handle with a handily placed flannel. He rubbed the flat surface of the paddle over his boy's arse then jerked it back and struck down hard. He repeated the action with more force, determined to make Greg break and scream.

Greg however, had other ideas. He was determined not to get that thing around his bollocks any more uncomfortable than it already was. He somehow managed to take the next 8 much harder strokes with only deep breaths through his nose, drool leaking out around the leather.

Mycroft frowned at his boy. He reached out with his hand and scratched a fingernail across Greg's arse, considering. “Hold this, boy,” he ordered and shoved the paddle's handle in the sub's hole, this time without lubing the handle.

The strap fell from Greg's mouth as his body went rigid and he let out a desperate cry.

“Oh, pet. That's so much better.” Reaching down, he gave the device another twist.

Greg's hands reached back and down as he blindly sought to comfort his aching balls. That only earned him another twist. “Please, God, Please! Sir...” There was another twist and Greg broke down sobbing at the excruciating pain.

“There, there, pet. That's as tight as I dare go. Now be a good boy and tell me thank you for hurting you so we can continue.”

The sub shook his head, his elbows giving out. “You must think I'm stupid if I'm going to-” he cut off at the weight that appeared in Mycroft's hand from nowhere. “You said one turn whenever I dropped the strap. I managed 10 without dropping it once. You never said you were going to try and make me fail.”

“Oh, pet. I assumed you took that as given.” Mycroft tilted his head to the side waiting to hear Greg's response.

The DCI swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. His Dom was right, he should have known. He opened his mouth to say the words that Mycroft had demanded, but they didn't come. To his horror he heard himself whinge, “But that's not fair!” as he threw himself back off the bench. The heavy device jerked his crushed balls hard and he fell down on the floor in a gasping heap.

Mycroft stood over him waiting for him to get a grip of himself. He folded his arms across his chest and Greg realised that he was supposed to be feeling sorry, he had got home late. He had given Mycroft permission to do whatever he wanted and at the moment it was clear he still needed to be punished in the Dom's eyes. That didn't mean he had to like it. His glare up at the older man made that quite clear.

“Pet, I see that look in your eyes. You don't want to thank me, and you don't have to. It's your choice. But if you don't, I'll hang you by the wrists, tether you to the wall by that devious little device and add weights to the tether until your crushed balls are stretched out in front of you nice and taught. Now decide, pet.”

“You're the Dom, you decide!” When Mycroft made towards him Greg scooted back, immediately regretting it, that and opening his mouth.

Mycroft grasped the crusher and tugged. A whimper broke from his sub's mouth as he stumbled to his feet. He used his grip to his advantage and pulled him to the flat area of wall, he turned him around and shoved him into the surface. As he began buckling his wrists into the dangling cuffs he whispered threateningly into his ear. “You are also missing another 26 strokes with the paddle and thus 2 more thorough fuckings with the handle, boy.” He used the winch system to pull his brat up and onto his toes. 

“Sir, I'm sorry, you were right. Thank you for hurting me.”

“You don't mean that, boy, but you will. I'll make sure of it.”

Greg whimpered as he watched the tether being attached first to the ball crusher and then to the wall. Mycroft hadn't put any weights on the tether yet. The Dom disappeared for a moment and reappeared with the ball gall, Greg almost cried in relief as it was buckled in place.

“Snap your fingers for me, boy,” Mycroft ordered, reminding Greg of his secondary safe word. It was difficult, but the sub managed it. “Good, now I shall add the weights.”

The rope began to get heavier and heavier and Greg rested his head against the wall, trying to ignore everything the Dom was doing to him.

“Right, that will do for now. 10 more.”

He returned with the paddle and Greg was extremely glad he couldn't see what was about to happen, even though he was in too much pain to care.

When the paddle struck, Greg jerked, not having the bench to steady him. The resulting pain in his balls was intense and he gave himself over to it, screaming around the gag. It was almost too much, but it didn't occur to him to snap his fingers, not on that blow or any of the ones that followed. His head fell forward, his hair brushing the wall this time, when Mycroft turned the paddle over and thrust it into his boy without a second thought.

Mycroft pushed up with the paddle and shifted it, making the sub dance on his toes. “You're doing so well for me, boy, making the loveliest sounds. You just have sixteen more blows and I'll be all done. Well, nearly.” Greg was so beautiful like this, Mycroft reached down and adjusted his erection in his trousers. “As a reward, I think I'll fuck you with you hanging here. Well, I say reward. I imagine you won't really enjoy it, so I'll be rewarding myself for my creativity. And then you can have that lovely enema, I don't think I'll put pepper in it though, your arse is ever so pretty with it all pink there.”

Greg didn't nod or shake his head or do anything that might suggest he had heard his Dom. He didn't know how much more his bollocks could take. He sweated and struggled through the next ten blows and the subsequent paddle fuck. When the final six blows had been delivered, he sobbed with relief. The relief fled when Mycroft's arms wrapped around him and pulled his hips further from the wall. The change in distance wasn't great, but the agony in his balls seemed to increase tenfold.

He doubted he had ever cried so much in his entire life. He would definitely leave work on time next time. In fact, he would never step out of line again. He whimpered when the Dom removed the cord from the wall and ordered him to turn around and kneel. He did what he was told through fear of not knowing what Mycroft might do if he didn't. The government official pulled the cord back between his legs and replaced it on the wall this time his balls being pulled backwards.

“Enema time, boy.”

Greg was confused, despite having been warned earlier. If he was getting an enema, why was he still strung up and not being taken to the loo? That's when he saw Mycroft approaching with a hose in his hand. The Dom was calmly attaching a long, thin nozzle to it. Greg started shaking his head violently and grunted his protest. He couldn't be made to do this, not here, not like this, not where everything that was washed from inside him would trickle down his thighs.

“I've often wondered why you never questioned that this part of the playroom was tiled, never asked about the drain or the hose. Now I see that it's because you didn't want to know. The thought of your upcoming humiliation terrifies you even more than the pain.” Mycroft gripped Greg's chin and turned his boy's face to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for giving this to me.”

The DCI just scowled at him in frustration. Mycroft pushed his head to the floor, the movement pulled the sub's arms up uncomfortably behind him.

He removed the paddle that he'd left in his hole, keeping him prepared.

“You ready, boy?”

Greg didn't dignify that with a response.

Mycroft breached his pet's hole with the nozzle. The water was already running and it flowed into Greg, filling him completely. The only mercy was that that Mycroft had used lukewarm water. Just as the sub thought he would burst from the pressure, the Dom removed the nozzle from his hole. Greg clenched tight for several minutes, despite the pain. It was irrational, but he refused to give in to the inevitable humiliation that would come when he couldn't fight the urge to purge anymore.

Except that that wasn't Mycroft's plan, at least not yet. He replaced the nozzle with the paddle.

“Don't even think of moving, boy.”

The DCI was getting a bit fed up with this, but he didn't move.

Finally, the pain and pressure got to be too much and Greg began writhing despite the additional pain it caused his balls. He had reached his breaking point. Just as he was determined to snap his fingers, Mycroft pulled the paddle abruptly from its makeshift stand. The sub sagged with relief as the filthy fluids washed over his lower extremities, his idea to safe word forgotten. Greg turned his face into his arm and sobbed around the gag.

Mycroft turned the hose on his sub, washing away the mess with icy cold water. When he had finished, he came to stand in front of Greg. He looked at him, feeling a sense of pride. It was clear that his pet had almost used his safe word, but now that the critical moment had passed, he was still surrendering himself. It was amazing.

Greg had run out of strength. His limits had been pushed and he knew he deserved it. The gag was removed, but Greg didn't speak. The further this punishment was progressing the more guilty he was feeling because Mycroft obviously felt he deserved it too as it went on. He was supposed to be feeling relief, glad to be paying the price for making his Dom wait, not get worse.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and looked at his boy, really looked. He could see the dejection written large across his boy's face. That wasn't right. He reached out and gently cupped Greg's cheek. “Pet. Gregory. Look at me.”

The DCI opened eyes that he didn't realise he had closed.

“Do you know how proud I am of you?” It was obvious his boy didn't believe him. “You didn't safe word. You gifted me with your suffering, your pain.” He pressed his lips to the corner of Greg's mouth. “Can you give me just a bit more, pet? I'm so hard and it's because of you.”

Proud? All he had done was spank him with the paddle a few times, and the enema. Getting promotion, was something to be proud of, not this. He realised he would be getting the same tomorrow and sniffed.

Greg pulled his head away and looked down. “Yes, sir,” he croaked softly. He would rather offer his agreement than disappoint the Dom even more.

Mycroft released his boy's face and walked around him. He released the tether from the wall and carefully lowered it to the floor. The weights on the tether slid down anchoring the rope in place. The tether was long enough that this new placement, rather than increase the pressure on Greg's balls, actually relieved it somewhat, though it would still be imprudent for him to try to get away.

Mycroft rubbed his hands over Greg's extremely red arse. “Oh, I am going to fuck you so hard.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg repeated quietly.

The government official straddled the rope coming from between his boy's knees and pushed himself in. 

Every thrust into him caused a chain reaction of jarring pain in his crushed and swaying balls. He was crying silently now, resigned to his role as a fuck toy. This was what he had asked for, after all, to be used and tormented for Mycroft's pleasure.

Mycroft came inside of him with a yell and pulled out once he'd ridden through the waves. His come leaked from his pet's red rimmed hole.

Greg sobbed silently again as he fell forward, his arms clicking in their thrust up position. He had his eyes closed tightly and knew he was being left alone when he heard his Dom's footsteps leave the corner. Maybe the older man hadn't finished punishing him? Maybe he'd angered him further by making him have to wait so long to get his own relief. He kept his head low, the pain in his balls just a constant now.

Greg started at the gentle touch of a damp flannel against his arse. He had been so lost in his misery that he hadn't noticed Mycroft's return. As soon as he had been cleaned, the Dom lifted the weight from the ball crusher and tossed it to the floor, then he began unscrewing the T-bar. Greg's crying became vocal at the relief. When the device had been removed completely, he thought he might pass out from relief.

Mycroft wrapped strong arms around his boy and lifted him so he could release his arms.

Greg cried out as the change of position made pain shoot through his shoulders.

Picking the DCI up, Mycroft carried him to a chair and sank down into it. He cradled his boy and rocked him as he murmured a constant litany of comfort and praise.

Greg couldn't seem to relax into it though. It was like he didn't want to be on Mycroft's lap. As his sobs went back to silent sniffles, he couldn't believe it was all over, but none of what the Dom was saying made any sense.

Mycroft noticed his boy's stiffness and tried to encourage him to relax, but Greg shook his head and let out another quiet sob.

Reaching with one hand, Mycroft picked up the paracetamol tablets that he had left on the table earlier. “Gregory, open up. I need to get these in you. That's it, open.”

The DCI did as instructed, holding the tablets in his mouth until he felt a bottle of water pressed to his lips. He drank deeply, suddenly incredibly thirsty and swallowed the tablets.

Mycroft kept tipping the bottle to his pet's mouth in between Greg's little sobs. Finally, his boy quieted, though he remained stiff. A worry that had been growing in the back of his mind pushed its way forward. “Oh, pet, that was too much for you, wasn't it?”

The younger man drank some more from the bottle until it was empty and then shook his head. “No, sir.”

Mycroft frowned, still feeling concern for Greg. He smoothed the sub's hair down a few times as he considered his next words. “Don't say that just because you think it's what I want to hear. I need the truth, pet.”

Greg finally let his head fall to Mycroft's chest and heaved a sigh, his body slowly beginning to relax. He didn't know how to explain himself. Once the punishment had started in earnest, he had hated it and felt the fool for bringing it upon himself. He had wanted nothing more than to get away from the literally crushing assault on his balls. There had been no arousal on his part at all, but now... God, now he was being held and adored and he was slowly beginning to understand that Mycroft was truly impressed by his endurance and willingness to serve. It turned out he didn't need any words to say those things, his cock was starting to stir. He tipped his head up and reached for a kiss.

But Mycroft still wasn't convinced. He leant back smoothly, avoiding the kiss, intent on continuing their conversation, he needed to know what was going on inside his boy's head.

It didn't appear that way to the other man, Greg took the avoidance as dejection. His head had already been in the wrong place and that had just sealed the deal. He got to his feet, exhausted as he was, it took him a moment to steady himself before he stumbled through the flat, Mycroft called after him but he ignored it. Was it a case of waiting for tomorrow's spanking for this to be over? Or… he didn't know. He had hoped that if he did well enough today Mycroft would cancel tomorrow's as he knew he wouldn't forget, but he realised he was naive for thinking that and everything Mycroft had said had just been for show. He couldn't choose between a freezing shower or his bed.

Bed would mean eventually Mycroft would join him. The shower meant… well self-punishment, he guessed.

He turned the water to cold and stepped in shivering immediately. The water did feel soothing on his balls, however, as bruised as they were.

“Gregory! Gregory open up!” Mycroft yelled, slamming his fist into the locked bathroom door.

He stepped back and threw himself against the door and was rewarded by a satisfying crack. He did it again and again until the door finally gave way. When he burst through, it was to find Greg shivering under the cold spray of the shower. Looking at his boyfriend standing there, silent and not looking at him, he didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say. All he could do at the moment was make sure that the DCI was physically alright. Mentally... For one of only three times in his life, Mycroft prayed. He would give up the play, he would give up Greg if only he would be alright.

“What are you doing in the cold water?”

Greg didn't move or answer just shivered again. Mycroft saw the lump in his boy's throat as he swallowed.

“Come on, come out of there.”

He pushed the curtain back, but Greg didn't move once more, just stood under the cold spray.

Not thinking twice about it, Mycroft stepped into the shower. Greg didn't draw away, so the Dom very slowly held out his arms, giving him every chance to protest. After a moment, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and held him gently. If he needed to, the Dom would stand there all night.

Greg didn't hug back, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't push the Dom away that would be bad so he just stood there.

Mycroft didn't mind the cold water, well he did, but his boy had been under it a lot longer so he leant forward and twisted the dial, letting the spray come out warm.

Greg's shivering slowly subsided. The water was shut off and he felt himself being guided out of the shower. He let himself be dried. A dressing gown was wrapped around his shoulders, then he was guided to the large bed where he was tucked under the covers.

Mycroft smoothed down the sub's hair, then withdrew his hand. He hadn't been actively rejected, but he hadn't been encouraged either. “Go to sleep, Gregory. Tomorrow you can decide what you want.”


	2. Chapter 2

Greg awoke slowly and alone. He reached out and Mycroft's side of the bed was stone cold. He hadn't even slept with him last night. Why did he keep messing up? He glanced at the clock, 6:30. That was fine, he had an hour and a half before he needed to be at work. He laid back and listened for a moment, the flat sounded empty, Mycroft must have already left because there was absolutely no way he'd be in the kitchen and that was the only place you couldn't hear from the bedroom. They'd tested it one day, he smiled at the memory. Would he have to move out or would Mycroft? What a stupid question, Mycroft had insisted on covering all the rent and bills of course he would have to move out. He slipped out of bed and threw on his suit, then leant back against the wall for a moment, thinking.

He eventually decided to pack now he could come home from work at lunch and do a bit more and he could be out of the flat by the end of the day. He pulled out some fold away boxes and started on his pants drawer, then moved onto his socks.

He was quite surprised when the door was pushed open and Mycroft stood there with a tray.

Seeing what his boyfriend was doing, Mycroft swallowed hard. He set the tray on the bedside table and reminded himself of the promise he had made. “I see you've made your decision, then. Of course, I understand - I pushed you too far after all. If you like, I'll have Anthea pack your things and send them wherever you specify. You won't have to see me again.”

Greg froze and he glanced at the tray, there was enough food for the both of them. He didn't…

Mycroft turned to leave. “I'll um… I'll go into work now, this’ll be the last you see of me. You can, well… you can do what you want.” Uncharacteristic tears sprung in his eyes and he sniffed indignantly. “It was good. All of it. You were good.”

The DCI stared at the cold side of the bed, then the breakfast tray with all his favourites and then the closed door. He heard Mycroft pull his jacket down from the rack and raced to the door.

“Mycroft, wait.”

The British Government paused, but he didn't turn around.

“I don't understand.”

Now, he turned.

“It kills me to let you go, Gregory, but I'm not going to force you to stay. I promised you that day when I first took you to the playroom. I don't kidnap people or force them to do anything they are uncomfortable with.” Mycroft was overcome with emotion.

“No, I meant, your side of the bed was not slept in.”

“I thought you needed your own space. I took the couch, it seemed the fairer option.”

Greg didn't know what to say - Mycroft was being ridiculous. Waking up without him had been a horrible experience. “Myc, you didn't kidnap me. I asked you to use me and push me and I could have used my safe word at any time.”

“I'm not so certain.” The Dom shook his head. “You were overwhelmed and not thinking right. What I did ceased being play the moment that happened. It was abuse.” And that filled Mycroft with self-loathing.

“If you believe that for one second walk out that door,” Greg's voice had taken on a hard edge. An edge he only ever used at work, not here, not with Mycroft.

The government official stared at the DCI for a moment. “Why are you packing, then?”

“Because I didn't think you wanted me! Everything yesterday, it wasn't play, it was punishment,” he should sound ridiculous but he didn't. “I had promised you after last week that I would come home when you wanted, unless it was ridiculously early. I knew I was stirring up trouble by staying at work. I broke a rule. A rule we decided upon together. You had every right to do that last night. I guess, I had assumed it was over, but when I went to kiss you, you rejected it – me. I thought I still hadn't been punished enough.”

“I should have made it clear the punishment was over. I'm sorry.”

“No, I should have seen, you were saying loads of nice things to me and holding me and I didn't know how to cope. I'd upset you, and you were doing all that, it was at that point I became overwhelmed not before. The further it got, the more I realised how much I trusted you, how much I love you.”

“We don't have to have this, I'm happy having you any way you'd let me. We don't need this.”

“We do. I'm a DCI because of what we do together. I was drifting, Mycroft, even when I was with you, this has grounded me far better than anything else I've ever done.”

Mycroft was biting his lip, worrying it mercilessly. He still thought he was in the wrong, but if Gregory wanted to stay, he wouldn't gainsay him. As for the Dom/sub aspect of their relationship, well, they would have to wait and see.

“Say something, Mycroft. I can see those wheels turning in your head.”

“What do you want me to say, Gregory? That I was in the right? That everything I did was justified? It was abuse.”

“That's bullshit and I'm fine. I was packing because I assumed you wanted me out not because I wanted it.”

“I could never want that.” Mycroft felt his knees beginning to go weak, so he sat on the edge of the sofa. He knew many people would call even his mildest desires perverse and abusive, but he had always dismissed such ideas. Now, he believed they were right. Why couldn't Greg see the obvious? Well, the government official could. He wouldn't argue the point, but he would lock those desires away. He would protect Greg. Mycroft looked up with tired eyes and frowned at the DCI's obvious physical discomfort. “Did you take something for the pain?”

Greg looked down with averted eyes, just like his sub would. “No, sir,” he had pondered for a moment on whether the appellation would be appreciated but decided it didn't matter.

“Don't, Gregory, just don't.”

The DCI turned on his heel, disappointed in himself and headed back into the bedroom.

Mycroft sighed and ran his hands over his face. He could at least get something into Greg to make him more comfortable. He grabbed the paracetamol and headed into the bedroom. The DCI had thrown himself on the bed, not feeling like facing the world.

“Please, Gregory. At least take something.”

Greg shook his head. He deserved the pain. He wanted it. Reaching between his legs, he grasped his bollocks and gave them a brutal twist.

He didn't make a sound as he did, just bit his tongue and did it again.

“Gregory, please, please stop it,” Mycroft moved into the room, but didn't want to reach out and touch him, he'd overstep some imagined mark.

However, when the DCI did it hard enough to yell out, Mycroft couldn't bear it any more.

“Boy, enough! Kneel!” He barked.

It was like a switch in the younger man, he flinched, but rolled off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of Mycroft's feet.

“Why were you hurting yourself?”

Greg looked down at the floor. “I disappointed you, not just by coming home late, but by everything since. I need to hurt. It's the only way I can learn. Without it, I can't be forgiven or even forgive myself.”

“I'm not going to hurt you, not again.”

Now, Greg looked up at him. There was a fire in his eyes. “Then I will.”

Mycroft crouched down in front of him. “You've already been forgiven, Gregory, you were late home, you didn't murder anyone.”

“So why does it feel like I did?”

“Because I set you up to fail without warning you I was going to do it. You called me on it and I dismissed it out of hand. I didn't realise how it would make you feel.”

Greg's voice trembled, “I don't want to feel like this.”

“Gregory, tell me what you need. What can I do to make you feel forgiven?”

The DCI's breath hitched and he sobbed. It took him a moment to stare at the floor and then he wrapped his hands around the only man he could ever love and held him tight.

Mycroft did the same and glanced at the tray of food. “Can I feed you?” He whispered in his boy's ear. At his nod the government official let out his own shaky breath.

“On one condition.”

At that he froze.

“Take the day off.”

Mycroft laughed through sudden tears. “Of course, Gregory. Anything. I'll just call Anthea.” He started to stand, but the DCI held on tight. “Ok, I can take a hint.” Mycroft stayed where he was as he placed the necessary call. “And let the Yard know Gregory's taking a well-deserved break.”

Mycroft rang off. “I know exactly what I'm going to do with you.”

“Hmm,” Greg murmured into his neck, that was now slick with snot and tears.

“The country manor. A few days away is just what you need.”

“Not just me,” the greying haired man said quickly.

“No, not just you. Both of us.”

“Mm, good. That's okay, then.”

Mycroft leant back enough to see Greg's face. “Do you want to lay on the bed while I feed you, or the sofa? We could move to the living room if you want.”

Greg pulled his tie off over his head and then unbuttoned the top few buttons. He pulled the older man up into the bed with him without saying a word.

Once Mycroft had got himself comfortable he wrapped his around his boy and brought him in close.

They lay there for a bit, enjoying the calm silence. Greg's stomach interrupted the peace by rumbling loudly. “Aren't you meant to be feeding me?”

Mycroft sat up and smiled at him. “Cheeky.” He looked over at the tray of breakfast food. “I'm afraid it's gone cold.”

What he was about to say would test if Mycroft really had forgiven him or not.

“You'd better go and make more then.”

Mycroft hesitated, not wanting to leave Greg alone. “Only if you come with. I'm not ready to leave you, not even for a minute.”

“I'm fine, I'm not going to suddenly disappear.”

Mycroft's face went dark for a moment. “I won't stop you if you-”

Greg pressed his index finger to his lips. “Shh. I'm staying. You'd have to stop me from doing that instead.”

“I don't want to leave you alone. You're kind of depressed…”

“I'm fine!” Greg repeated.

Sighing, the Dom crouched down and scooped him up. The DCI just laughed and wrapped his arms around his neck, even though his balls hurt, like this he could ignore it. “You win,” he whispered.

Mycroft carried Greg through to the kitchen, setting him down at the breakfast bar. “Today, I am your servant. Name anything you want and I'll cook it. But first...” He handed Greg two tablets and a glass of water. “Take the damned pills.”

“Only because you phrased it so nicely.” Greg swallowed the pain killers and drained the glass. “Now, what to make you cook?”

Mycroft was now resting on the other side of the bar, staring at him intensely, like he didn't want to let him out of his sight.

Greg looked around for inspiration. “I want pancakes. And bacon. And ice cream.”

“Ice cream? For breakfast?”

“Yes. Vanilla with chocolate sauce. And strawberries and whipped cream on the pancakes.”

Mycroft stared at him disbelieving for a moment. He was supposed to ensure his sub had a healthy, balanced diet, but he couldn't bear to say no to his boy, not after everything he had done for him last night.

“Ok, you grew up with Sherlock I'm sure you can think of weirder food combinations.”

“God, Gregory, you have no idea. He once refused to eat anything but jelly babies and salt and vinegar crisps for a whole week.”

“Only a week?” He chuckled.

“That wasn't that crazy, the following month it was peanut butter and mint sauce on chips.”

Both men gave a shudder at that.

Greg grinned wide when a huge bowl of ice cream was sat down in front of him. He tucked in with enthusiasm and watched as Mycroft set about mixing the pancake batter.

Greg got distracted by watching the Dom's hands. “Where is the manor, Myc?”

“Sussex. It's where Sherlock and I grew up, but our parents live in Scotland now.”

Mycroft dropped something silver into the hot pan and poured the batter. Not long thereafter, he fished the silver thing from the pan with a fork and flipped the pancake. He repeated the process twice, moving each finished pancake to a plate. The whole time he was careful to shield the pan from view.

When he placed the stack of pancakes, complete with the requested strawberries and whipped cream, in front of Greg, the DCI's mouth quirked into a disbelieving smile. “Heart shapes. Oh, Myc, wait until I tell Sherlock.”

“You dare,” he growled.

“I thought you were my slave for the day.”

Greg knew Mycroft hadn't meant it like it seemed, he was obviously just flirting while trying to apologise. Still, he couldn't help wonder what it would be like if their roles were switched for the day.

“Myc, can we try something?”

“I know what you're thinking, Gregory, but I think you need a break from all of it.”

“That's what I mean. We won't do anything heavy. It will just be us. Like it is any normal day, but in reverse.”

“Eat up and I'll call for the car.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It is.”

Greg smiled and bent down to kiss the top of Mycroft's head. “Okay, then. Would you mind packing for the both of us?”

The government official gave him a wry look. “That sounds like a request. Was that a request?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Allow me to rephrase. Go pack for the both of us.”

“The last time I packed a suitcase I was leaving for Oxford.”

“Well, go now.”

“How can I feed you if you're telling me to go and pack?”

“Are you arguing with me already?”

“This should be easy for you Gregory, you're a DCI, it's your job to boss people around.”

Greg watched him as he stood up, looking singularly unimpressed. Mycroft bit his lip in a way that made him look sheepish. He could count on one finger, the number of times Mycroft had looked like that. It was, well, cute. “You look cute, Mycroft.”

“Please, spare me.”

“But you do.”

“You know that if you had spoken or acted like that around me, I would have already thrown you over my lap?”

Greg's mouth fell open as he gaped at his boyfriend. “Is that... Do you...” He had to get a sentence out. “Why would you want me to do that?”

“To see what it's like.”

“Shouldn't we be starting slow?”

“I trust you.”

“I trust you,” he countered.

Mycroft shook his head. “But I don't trust me. I've never been on this side of things. Maybe it's about time. Please, Gregory. Show me.”

Greg stared at him for a moment. “You want to try this? Properly? Not as a joke?”

Mycroft shook his head. “No. Please.”

“You'd trust me enough to… I've never done this before.”

“That makes us a matching set, don't you think, Gregory?”

Greg swallowed once, then made his decision. In one swift motion, he jerked Mycroft to him and pulled him over his lap. “I think you meant, sir.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Now with or without the pants?” It was a rhetorical question, but Mycroft went to answer.

“Er… no, I'm the decision maker now.”

“Right. Sorry, sir.” It felt odd surrendering like this. He was the British Government, after all, which meant he was always in control.

Greg shifted him so that he could open Mycroft's trousers and managed to expose his arse to the air. He looked at it for a long time before resting his hand on one firm cheek.

“Have you ever been hit with a riding crop, Mycroft?”

“Yes. Sir,” he added after a moment’s thought.

“When was this?”

“I would never strike a sub with something I hadn't experienced first.”

Greg frowned, but Mycroft couldn't see it. “I thought you hadn't done this, be a sub I mean.”

Mycroft replied, feeling like he was talking to the floor as he was still draped over the DCI's lap, “I never surrendered control of the situation, so nothing happened that I didn't specifically request. It's not the same.”

“Topping from the bottom?”

“Quite.”

“Now, I seriously hope you're not planning to try that with me.”

“I probably will, actually.” He turned his head as far to the side as he could, trying to see Greg's face. “But I'm quite certain you'll correct me, sir.”

“Damned straight.” His hand came down hard on Mycroft's arse, then he pushed him to the floor. “Crawl to the play room and bring back the crop that you're so fond of.”

Mycroft shook himself out for a moment. The only time he'd ever been on the floor with his suit on was when he wanted to be. He looked up at his new Dom, Greg was pointing with all the authority of a leader to the playroom.

He started to pull his trousers up around his waist to make it easier to crawl.

“Don't. Leave them like they are.” Greg reached out and gave him a little push with his foot. “Hurry up...” He couldn't call him boy or pet. “Hurry up, slut.”

Mycroft froze, was this what it was like to be on the receiving end of those sorts of orders?

When Mycroft returned, he was awkwardly holding the crop as he crawled.

“Put it in your mouth, boy,” maybe boy would be okay, he definitely couldn't call him pet, but boy… maybe.

When the British Government, the actual British Government placed it between his teeth, Greg's breath caught in his throat.

Mycroft stopped just in front of him, head down, back in a straight line, like he would demand of his own sub.

“You are going to get 20 with this, but after you've fed me. Then you are going to pack.”

Mycroft frowned, the pancakes were most definitely cold by now.

“No, boy,” Greg said, reading his mind. “Cooking a third breakfast would be ridiculous. I don't mind if they're cold.”

Mycroft looked for the plate to his Dom. It would be hard to feed him from down here. A breakfast bar always was higher than a normal table.

“Sit on the unit.”

Mycroft climbed up, almost pulling his trousers up from instinct. Fortunately, he stopped himself in time to avoid a reprimand.

“So you can be a good boy.”

Mycroft blushed at the wording and then realised how he made his sub feel when he spoke like that. He immediately set about cutting up the pancakes and feeding it chunk by chunk to the younger man. He realised he hadn't made the bacon, but didn't bring it up, not when he was finally getting food into his boyfriend.

It didn't take long for the pancakes to disappear. Greg hadn't eaten yesterday evening, after all. He let Mycroft dab at his mouth with a napkin, then stood up. “I've changed my mind. Crawl to the play room and wait for me, bend over the bench.” It was a necessity, really. Greg needed to practice with the crop before using it on Mycroft.

Mycroft watched the greying haired man for a moment.

“Is there a problem, boy?”

The older man actually flinched. The Dom's voice was such… well it just fit, he really wasn't the only one who could Dom someone. He should have known really, John did an excellent job with his baby brother.

Mycroft crawled into the play room and lay over the bench, amazed by his reaction to Greg's natural ability. When he heard the DCI beating what had to be a sofa cushion, he felt himself shiver - he was really going to lay here and wait for Greg to come and do the same to his arse. What would the DCI do if it was in reverse? Just lay there as he was told, he'd maybe move his hands around behind him and grip his wrist. But Mycroft could do one better than that, their expanse of toys here wasn't quite what it was at the Diogenes, but they had some leather cuffs in the corner. He straightened up and headed to where the drawer held them.

The Dom cleared his throat from the door. The look on Greg's face wasn't reassuring.

“I was just...”

“No! Bench. Now.” The DCI was pointing at the bench with the crop. “That's 10 more strikes for disobeying me.”

Mycroft's head lowered, he would have done exactly the same, well he would have doubled the number. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. He dropped to his knees and crawled to the bench rather than risk yet another reprimand, this whole being a sub thing was a lot more difficult than he had ever given it credit for. He pulled himself up onto the bench, and moved his hands around behind him.

Greg walked over to the drawer and pulled out the cuffs the bench usually possessed. He strapped them down and fitted Mycroft's wrists into them.

Mycroft had been restrained before in bad situations, but never like this, by someone he loved and trusted. There was something freeing about it. He felt almost heady.

He twisted his head so his cheek was flat against the bench, he wanted to be aroused, but he was about to be punished, a punishment he had practically insisted upon.

Greg wriggled his trousers and pants back down again and softly played with the white flesh that was revealed with the tip of the crop.

He hefted the riding crop and struck, causing Mycroft to jump and call out in surprise. Reaching out, Greg ran his fingers across the rising welt, strangely fascinated. On impulse, he pinched Mycroft's arse where the red strip crossed. Mycroft yelped.

“You mean to say, you wouldn't have done the exact same thing?”

“It doesn't matter what I would have done. You did it.”

“Your mouth just got you into even more trouble, boy.” The pet name had come easier that time. He hadn't even thought about it before he'd used it. “I could just double your punishment, but I think not. Tell me, boy, is there an implement that you find more distasteful than the crop?”

“Um… there might be.”

“Don't try and lie, Mycroft, I can tell when you do.”

“There's a worse crop than that one.”

“So you deliberately picked up the one you liked the most.”

“It wasn't like that. Sir.”

Greg pulled back his arm and landed another blow on Mycroft's arse. “Explain.”

“This one is my favourite for using on you. The other one I save for punishment.”

“You're trying to get off on a technicality. I'm a copper, you know how well that's going over, don't you, boy?”

Mycroft opened and closed his mouth a few times. “We've been at this for 10 minutes and I never realised how hard it was for the sub to know what the Dom wanted if they hadn't been specific.”

Greg raised an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, innit? Allow me to be specific, then. Tell me which riding crop will hurt the worst when it comes down on that pretty little bum of yours. And no lying,” he added.

“The one hanging up, sir,” Mycroft answered honestly.

“Go and get it then.”

Greg reached down and released the cuffs that were holding Mycroft in place. The government official swallowed hard, then did as he was told. He crawled over and fetched it, quite certain it would be a bad idea to not crawl.

He managed to deduce that the DCI would want him in the position he had just left so he waited until he took the new crop from his teeth and climbed back onto the bench where the cuffs were wrapped around his wrists again.

Mycroft assumed this was like what death row would be like. Waiting for the inevitable, but having no control over it.

His boy, as Greg was coming to think of him, seemed far too confident and in control of himself. That had to change. The DCI dragged a chair over and sat it behind the government official then fell into it. Confused, Mycroft turned his head as far as he could to try to look behind him.

Greg waited a long moment. “Is there a problem, boy?” He raised an eyebrow in the direction of the British Government.

“No, sir,” Mycroft replied quickly and turned his head back around.

“Good.” Greg waited quite some time, watching for the moment when his boy began to relax. The moment it happened, he lashed out with the crop. He struck across the fullest portion of Mycroft's arse.

The older man yelped.

“I think you should count, as well.”

“One, sir,” he responded immediately.

Again, he waited until he it appeared he wasn't going to strike again and then he did. Mycroft soon noticed the pattern with the sharp sting of the crop.

“Two, sir,” he panted.

Greg began waiting again.

“You know, Gregory, you really are good at this.”

Greg bit his lip, trying not to laugh. When he had control of himself, he barked out, “Quite, Boy. I didn't request a critique.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Greg landed another 3 strokes in a row just above the previous and Mycroft turned his head to bite into his arm.

“Er, no, boy, you count.”

Mycroft counted them off quickly and in a strained voice and then he bit his arm again.

The DCI circled him and tilted his head up, like Mycroft had done the previous day.

“You don't hurt yourself, that's my job.”

Mycroft's eyes widened. How many times had he said that to Gregory? He'd had no idea how difficult it was to control yourself while these things were happening to you. He let out a ragged breath.

“Do I need to gag you, boy?” Greg's voice was hard.

“No, sir.”

The DCI's voice softened a bit. “Would you like me to? It makes it easier.”

“No, sir.”

Greg watched him for a moment. He was being particularly stubborn and he knew just what to do.

He found the leather strap the older man had used on him last night and wedged it between his teeth.

“You had a choice. Drop it and they'll be consequences. And since I lost count, we'll be starting over.”

That was so unfair that Mycroft couldn't help himself, he glowered at Greg.

“Oh, my sweet boy, it's so difficult when everything is stacked against you, but you can do this.”

As if Mycroft had a choice in the matter! Well, he could safe word – he was sure that if he snapped his fingers Greg would stop. He wouldn't snap his fingers, though. Mycroft was determined to take anything Greg, no, his Dom, could dish out. And anyway, it would be hypocritical if he couldn't take this after everything he'd put his boy through last night.

He nodded once and dug his teeth into the leather as Greg dropped the crop again and again and again until even Mycroft had lost count.

“Well, that's 25, boy, how many was I supposed to be giving you?”

Mycroft almost said 25, but recognised the trap just in time. He kept his teeth clamped down on the leather strip as he said, “Sirty, sir.”

“Ah, my mistake, then.” Greg didn't waste any time in administering the remaining five blows. When he was done, he sat back down in the chair. Much to his surprise, he found himself admiring the view. “Your arse is such a lovely shade of red, boy. It should look that way all the time.”

Greg actually heard Mycroft's swallow.

“So, did you enjoy biting on that leather?”

While he waited for a response he lubed up the handle of the crop, it wasn't wide and he wouldn't play with it for very long he just wanted to see what Mycroft had got out of it.

Just as Mycroft answered, “Do, Sir,” he felt himself be abruptly breached. A loud cry was ripped from him and he dropped the leather strip.

“How's that feel, boy?” He wriggled the riding crop, watching Mycroft squirm. “Oh, and it seems you dropped the strap, that is a shame isn't it?” He asked sarcastically.

Mycroft couldn't work out whether he should congratulate the DCI's ingenuity or be angry.

“Hold that for me, boy.” Greg gave the crop a wiggle before letting it go. So far, he had only really replicated part of Mycroft's treatment of him the previous night. He needed to improvise and he had the sudden urge to make his boy come while being hurt. That was an experience that he enjoyed when Mycroft did it to him.

He didn't want to overstep the line though. This was something new, for both of them, yes Mycroft could use Greg's safe word and he would stop, but he felt like he needed to talk to him about it.

“One of my favourite things is coming whilst you are doing something insane with me, like fucking me with the paddle or indeed with this crop. What do you think, boy, want to give it a try?”

Mycroft, who was rarely surprised by anything, who had been constantly surprised since he woke that morning, was surprised once again. He'd expected nothing more than being punished and playing servant for a few days. What Greg had suggested was something he'd never done/had never had done to him. Nervously, he answered, “Yes, sir. Please, sir.”

“Well, not right now.” He pulled the older man's trousers up and then smacked his bum through the expensive material.

He released him from the cuffs with two words. “Go pack.”

Mycroft, once again in the space of a matter of seconds was surprised.

Greg watched Mycroft walk from the play room, rubbing his aching arse. When he was alone, the DCI looked around the room, feeling giddy. The toys all around him were just begging to be used and he wondered if he should make Mycroft pack some of them too or if there was a fully equipped play room at the estate. Who was he kidding? It may have been the family home, but he was sure Mycroft had been in and tweaked it since his parents had moved.

There was one item he needed, though, that infernal ball crusher. This wasn't about revenge, he just had to find out why Mycroft had enjoyed using on him so much. Grabbing it, he turned and left the play room. This promised to be an interesting next few days.


End file.
